Fruit of Knowledge
by Nobodies Have Hearts
Summary: Both their eyes are blue and sometimes it leaves her wondering why hers aren't.


"_The arcana is the means by which all is revealed."_

_- Nyx, Final Battle_

* * *

><p>She dreams of scarves and headphones, of blue eyes and a full moon.<p>

_(you must accept full responsibility for your actions)_

* * *

><p>Sometimes she doesn't catch herself in the mirror.<p>

Sometimes she catches blue hair instead. Blue hair and silver headphones.

But then she turns and oh what do you know, it's not. The blue has rusted away and her headphones are back in the dorm, she knows, because the familiar weight of them isn't pressed against her rib cage. And the ones she saw were higher than that, twisted on a pale neck just as the undertaker's noose would be, just one knot away from a death sentence.

She breaths.

He doesn't.

The world is okay.

* * *

><p>She dreams of a world bathed in green.<p>

_(the dark hour will be soon)_

* * *

><p><em>i am sorry,<em>

-she hears through the green haze and suddenly there is a pain, right above her heart, and all she can hear is something akin glass breaking. The world fades along with the boy's laughter.

The next time she hears anything, it's the hum of machinery and the nurse telling her that her parents are dead.

* * *

><p>She dreams of a car crash, a robot.<p>

_(you are dangerous)_

* * *

><p>He smells like coffee. The kind you can get the mall for 500 yen and a sincere smile. Maybe a good tip.<p>

He smells like coffee. And hope. And a little bit of something else she can't describe but recognizes like the scent has been clinging to her skin her whole life.

She breaths in deeply.

For a moment she can almost hear the music coming from his noose, between the overcrowded screams of her inner selves and the deafening silence of her soul.

It doesn't happen and she's left with only the mirrors for comfort.

* * *

><p>She dreams of oily monsters with a queen and a castle.<p>

_(brace yourself)_

* * *

><p>The school that isn't twists every which way, above and below, sideways and back, seemingly changing every other time she blinks, which wouldn't be too surprising if it did.<p>

They smell like tar and decay, unpleasant as it is. Nothing like the coffee she wishes she had before they left an hour ago. Someone's metal was sliding on the floor, the owner too exhausted to hold it up properly. The sound it makes is grating and alerts the shadows clawing through the dark, but she doesn't have the energy to correct whoever it is. It could be her, for all she knows.

They can't go on like this.

Something resembling water dripdripdrops off the wall, disturbing an already large puddle dancing with ripples. She can't help the way her eyes drift over the make-shift mirror.

He nods at her.

Right.

It doesn't matter if 'they' go on, so long as she does.

* * *

><p>She dreams of lonely children.<p>

_(they hold the longest grudges)_

* * *

><p>She doesn't hear the music, but she hears the apology long dead on his lips.<p>

* * *

><p>She dreams of coffins.<p>

_(does she really have the potential)_

* * *

><p>"What are you listening to?"<p>

The age old question she's been asked for longer than she remembers. There are one million responses- not all hers.

I'm listening to the voices in my head.

I'm listening to my guilty conscience.

I'm listening to the blood rushing in my body.

I'm listening to student gossip.

I'm listening to shattering glass.

I'm listening to my echoing memories.

I'm listening to too many people at once.

"Piano," she says.

_His __heartbeat,_ she doesn't.

* * *

><p>She dreams of gunshots and betrayal.<p>

_(this is the way it's supposed to be)_

* * *

><p>Something draws her to Akinari, something that goes far beyond pink alligators and rivers of tears.<p>

_why __would __one __so __full __of __life __waste __it __on __one __destined __to __die,_ He asks.

Because she's not going to be around long. Because he's the only one who understands. Because the aura around him reminds her of two other boys she knows.

Because she's already long gone.

She bites her tongues- all of them.

* * *

><p>She dreams of regret.<p>

_(why did you have to go)_

* * *

><p>Sometimes she catches herself in the mirror.<p>

Sometimes she catches herself and another boy. Not that one.

He's shorter than her; younger. His eyes remind her of a steel moon.

He smiles and waves and she's waved back on occasion, but only when she thinks no one is looking. But it's only ever her and the boy in the mirror, really.

She stopped checking over her shoulder years ago. After all, she can't see him. But he's always there, one tiny hand resting on her neck where the undertaker's noose should be.

For a split second, she can almost see the butterflies on his _(her)_skin.

* * *

><p>She dreams of people who think they need her.<p>

_(thank you,-)_

* * *

><p><em>you are dangerous<em>

is what she hears when a new boy, the same boy, transfers from her imagination to her school. And she agrees.

Because his eyes are so bright and blue (but not _his_blue) she can almost see a reflection in them.

It isn't hers.

And that's not quite okay.

* * *

><p>She dreams of second chances.<p>

_(the full moon is upon us)_

* * *

><p>At the start of her misadventure, when everyone was just getting started and it was only the five of them, Junpei told her she was crazy.<p>

He hadn't meant it the way it came out, but she found it funny anyway.

She was only as crazy as her reflection was.

And her reflection stood still, no matter how much she moved.

* * *

><p>She dreams of a new beginning.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>Alright."<em>

* * *

><p>Both their eyes are blue and sometimes it leaves her wondering why hers aren't.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>Let's do this."<em>

* * *

><p>Sometimes she doesn't catch herself in the mirror.<p>

Sometimes she catches blue hair instead. Blue hair and silver headphones.

She breaths.

He doesn't.

They remember.

And so she steps off the train and begins to recite.

"_The moment man devoured the fruit of knowledge, he sealed his fate..."_


End file.
